


Family and Comrades

by Llama1412



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Veterans talked about families between comrades. John had thought he'd lost that, but maybe his comrades in London were more than enough.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Kudos: 8





	Family and Comrades

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on livejournal in Nov 2011. Posted unedited.

He used to hear stories about the brotherhood of comrades in arms. He used to dream of it, that family that understood the horrors and the beauties of war, the pure _thrill_ of it. A couple of people in his company, old veterans, had talked about the family they had from previous tours. It always sounded so perfect, the ideal family of guys that understood what it mean tot be a soldier.  
  
No one ever talked about the people that missed out on that family, the ones that were injured or transferred and pulled from that family, pushed to intrude on a new one. If one thought about it, they'd assume that you'd still keep in touch with your old comrades, that you'd still be a family later. But people change so quickly on the battlefield and when you weren't there with them, you simply didn't _fit_ anymore.  
  
When Doctor John Watson got sent home, wounded in action, he discovered that he didn't really have anywhere to go. That family he'd had in Afghanistan was still over there, fighting and dying, while he was stuck here, away from the action, away from his duty. Harry wasn't even an option. He was too highly strung with the bereavement of the war to deal with family history and bad habits. Besides, Harry had her own problems at the moment and John refused to get dragged into it.  
  
He'd thought that he'd just have to get used to the feeling of disconnection from the rest of the world, to the itching in his bones and the call of that handgun he kept tucked into his nightstand. A lot of war veterans never recovered; he'd like to think that wasn't him, but with his leg dragging and his shoulder aching, maybe it really was.  
  
The first case he'd worked with Sherlock Holmes had been the first time he'd used that gun to protect someone else since he'd left the battlefield. Where his hands had always shook when he held that gun loosely in his hands, sitting in his lonely room and contemplating possibilities, his hands were steady and his aim was true when he needed to save this strange and intriguing man.  
  
Sherlock made him feel alive again, like he hadn't since he'd left the war. Sitting in the messy living room of 221B Baker Street and staring at the severed finger sitting in a beaker for reasons he'd rather not know, he finally felt like he'd found that family those veterans had talked about. Sherlock and he were comrades in arms, not on the battlefields of Afghanistan, but on the streets of London that managed to be so much more dangerous and fascinating.


End file.
